


A Pitstop On The Road To Hell

by orphan_account



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 00:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4543956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vladimir lives.  Matt isn't sure how to feel about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pitstop On The Road To Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another Matt-drags-Vladimir-home fic. Sorry if Vladimir sounds weird. This is my first time writing a character with such a heavy accent. 
> 
> Also, this is my second fic with explicit porn! Yay! Maybe someday it won't feel so awkward.

Vladimir passes out again after they enter the access tunnels, using the rifle to wedge the door shut behind them; they stumble off, Matt shouldering most of Vladimir’s weight, as quickly as possible, pounding and angered shouts echoing on the curving walls after them.

Matt asks Vladimir if he has a safe house- anywhere to go, really- and the bastard doesn’t respond, his head lolling back and forth with each step. Matt hesitates at the exit to the access tunnels, a ladder leading straight up, and wonders whether he should really be trying this hard to keep the Russian alive. He couldn’t exactly drag him to Claire’s place- she might actually decide once and for all that she’s had enough of Matt, and that’s not something he wants to risk- but he can’t exactly take the man home with him, either. But where else can they go? Vladimir needs a medical attention, soon, or the whole night will have been for nothing. And he still needed that name.

He manages to get Vladimir up the ladder, somehow, and then they’re stumbling down deserted streets, sirens in the far distance now. Matt steps into an alley and leans Vladimir up against the wall for a moment to catch his breath; the man woke up during their ascent up the ladder, and now he is awake enough at least to keep himself from falling over. Matt can feel himself being watched.

“Where are you taking me?” Vladimir rasps, after a moment, and Matt realizes he really only had one choice.

**

Claire calls him an idiot, and a moron, and a million other names, all well-deserved, but at least she doesn’t refuse. They put Vladimir on the floor and she immediately goes to work cutting his shirt off, hissing at the mess that is the Russians’s burned, bloody side. Matt helps her quietly, handing her what she asks for, holding the IV up so it drains properly, and Claire reopens the wound to pick out the bullet, Matt directing her with uncanny accuracy.

Thankfully she had thought to bring some pain medicine, taken from work, and for that she cursed Matt up and down again for making her a thief. But there’s really nothing else for it, and at least the medicine keeps Vladimir unconscious, for his sake as well as theirs.

Claire doubts his chances of waking up at all, but Matt can hear his heart beating steadily, and knows it’s going to be far more complicated than that.

**

They install Vladimir on the couch and sit at the kitchen table to drink some beers, neither of them able to speak quite yet. Matt hasn’t removed the mask, and he can tell Claire has a million things she wants to say to him, but she keeps her silence.

Finally, she stands, leaving her empty bottle behind. “I really hope you know what you’re doing,” is all she says as she gathers her things. Matt walks her to the door, and he doesn’t say “I hope so too” but he’s pretty sure she understands anyway.

**

Vladimir sleeps for over a day, waking up as Matt comes home from work long enough to say, “I have to piss.” Matt quickly fumbles the mask on, incongruent as it is with his suit and tie, and helps Vladimir to the bathroom, then back to the couch. The man mutters feverishly the whole time, in Russian, but he passes out again directly afterward, and Matt lets him be.

That’s the pattern for the next week- Vladimir wakes up in brief interludes, long enough to go to the bathroom or eat a few spoonfuls of soup, or drink some water, or get his bandages changed, and he is mercifully quiet most of the time. He seems to be out of energy for rude comments or insults, though Matt has some suspicions about his occasional grumbling in Russian.

Matt went out at night, but things were unusually quiet, so he came home early more and more. A week after the bombings he finds himself on the floor, back against the couch, as he listens to the Russian’s breathing. He touches the bandaged wound, lightly, and feels the slight heat radiating from it; still too warm, but not as fever-hot as the last few nights. Vladimir’s temperature had risen alarmingly, and despite her efforts Claire had told him not to get his hopes up.

Matt leans back, his shoulder resting against Vladimir’s knee, and wonders, for the hundredth time, if he had made the right choice.

**

He wakes abruptly as the mask is torn from his face, and he recoils in alarm, hands groping out for it before he could get his bearings. His hand closes over the fabric but he knew it was too late; Vladimir is awake and he has seen his face.

“You look like normal man,” Vladimir says, almost disappointed.

Matt grunts, standing up to face him; Vladimir hasn’t moved from the couch at all, but he’s more aware than he has been in days. He listens and hears the strong heartbeat, and he can tell the fever has broken. Vladimir shifts, struggling to sit up and too weak to manage it, and Matt relaxes by degrees. It’s too early yet to worry about Vladimir trying something- better to use this time to finally get some information from him, just in case things took a turn for the worse later.

“What exactly were you expecting?” Matt says, and Vladimir laughs, a short, pained sound.

“Not sure,” is the reply. He finally manages to hoist himself up into a sitting position. “Couch is shit, by the way.”

Matt can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes, but he privately agrees. “Could have left you on the floor,” he says.

“But you didn’t.” Vladimir’s voice turns thoughtful.

Matt busies himself in the kitchen, pulling a can of instant soup from the cupboard and feeling for the Braille label on the side. “I’ll make some soup. You’re going to need to eat.”

“Soup is shit, too.”

“Then I guess you’re just out of luck, because that’s all I have.”

He hears Vladimir turn to look at him over the back of the couch, and he makes sure to point his eyes in the right direction, where he knows Vladimir’s face is.

“You are strange man, Matthew,” Vladimir says, and Matt chokes in surprise.

“How-”

“Nurse friend thought I was asleep,” Vladimir says, and Matt feels the air move as he shrugs. “You are not very good at secrecy, you know this?”

“Obviously not,” Matt mutters.

“You brought me to your home. You feed me. You make sure I live.” Vladimir nods to himself, as if coming to a final conclusion in the matter. “You are very stupid man.”

“I’ve been hearing that a lot, lately,” Matt groans, cupping his hands over his face.

**

Another three days pass, and Vladimir is well enough to stagger around the apartment on his own. Matt discovers this when he comes home from work and finds the Russian sprawled out on his bed. Vladimir refuses to move, saying only “couch is shit,” again when Matt pokes him on the shoulder.

He finally manages to get a name from Vladimir, and sets out that night to confront Leland Owlsley.

It doesn’t go well. In fact, it goes even worse than usual- so of course that’s when Stick decides to crash the party.

**

The first thing Stick does is inhale as he enters, smelling the room; the second thing he does is tell Matt, “Silk sheets and a man on your bed. I always knew you were a faggot.”

The night goes downhill from there. Stick and Vladimir throw insults at each other from across the apartment while Matt drinks his beer and tries to ignore them; when Stick brings up the mission he reluctantly agrees, if only to get away from the noise.

When that goes sideways, too, Matt knows he really shouldn’t be as surprised as he is, but it still hurts. Vladimir pushes aside the broken plexiglass panel as he stumbles into the living room, watching Matt dejectedly sweeping up the debris with a broom, and says, “What is that?”

Matt picks up the ice cream wrapper bracelet and all but collapses on the couch, turning it over in his hands, and doesn’t respond.

“Old man was-” -some Russian word, apparently- “You don’t need him.”

Matt nods his head, but he’s really not sure he agrees with that assessment.

**

It doesn’t take much longer for Vladimir to find out, once he’s able to start moving around the apartment. When Matt goes to work the Russian spends his time snooping, rifling through Matt’s sparse belongings and going through the kitchen cupboards. He writes a list of things for Matt to buy and gets mad when Matt doesn’t find it right away, and then gets even more mad when Matt complains that he wrote in marker.

“Can you not read English? Are American schools that bad?” Vladimir growls, crumpling the list and dropping it on the floor.

“Just tell me what you want,” Matt says, tiredly, as he drops onto the couch; he dearly wants his bed back, but he’s not in the mood to argue about it tonight, for the millionth time.

Vladimir stalks closer, crowding up into Matt’s face, and then hesitates- Matt belatedly raises his eyes to the other man, but he can tell the damage is done by the way Vladimir’s heart is speeding up.

“You are blind.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Matt sighs, throwing an arm over his face.

“You are blind ninja.” Vladimir’s voice is bemused, but he seems to be taking the revelation in stride. The couch dips as he sits beside Matt, and he laughs.

“What’s so funny.”

“You don’t know what I look like,” Vladimir muses. “You are missing out, blind man.”

Matt groans. “This is not a conversation I want to have right now. Or ever.”

“Do you know what you look like?” Vladimir pushes, and Matt can hear the smarmy grin on his face.

“I have an idea.”

“You are handsome. Not as handsome as me, of course,” Vladimir says, smugly. “I was wondering when you would make move.”

“Despite what Stick said,” Matt growls, “I am not actually gay. And you’re a human trash can, so I wouldn’t be interested anyway.”

“Hmm,” Vladimir says. “But handsome trash can.”

**

Vladimir makes breakfast the next morning as Matt dresses for work, moving slowly; over a week sleeping on the couch isn’t doing his back any favors. He finishes straightening his tie and goes to the living room, and Vladimir dishes up eggs and hash browns for him. It’s all surreally domestic, and Matt wonders how the hell it ever came to this, but- well, it’s nice to have someone cook for him, for once.

Vladimir sits beside him at the small table, and Matt suddenly realizes how intimately close they are. He knows Vladimir is doing it on purpose- he’s been pushing boundaries lately, testing the limits of Matt’s patience, and Matt can only hope he’ll grow bored with it soon. He knows it’s mostly cabin fever, but he gets the feeling Vladimir was like this well before they ever had the misfortune of meeting.

They talk about Matt’s next target, and Vladimir is strangely forthcoming; they talk about the Chinese woman, Gao, and where to find her. Vladimir doesn’t know the specifics of her operation, but he seems to delight in informing Matt of her blind drug runners. Matt doesn’t take the bait.

Matt leaves for work, and comes home earlier than usual; he’d come across one of those runners and managed to tail them to a building, and he was eager to check it out. He stops on the way home to pick up a bottle of vodka, because Vladimir is nothing if not a Russian cliche.

Vladimir all but snatches it from his hands when he comes into the kitchen, cradling it in his arms like a small child.

“If you start singing to the fucking bottle I’m taking it back,” Matt says, and Vladimir scoffs at him.

“You bought shit, but I can work with this.”

“Work? You mean get drunk and go through my sock drawer again?”

“You don’t keep weapon in drawer like normal person.”

“That’s not normal, Vladimir.”

Vladimir scoffs again. “Blind ninja has no idea what is normal.”

**

When Matt comes home that night, shaken and a little singed, Vladimir is drunk. He can smell the vodka on his breath, but his behavior doesn’t seem to have changed much.

“You sit,” Vladimir says, pushing Matt down onto the couch. He thrusts the half-empty bottle into Matt’s hands. “Drink.”

“No,” Matt says, but gives up before he’s even done protesting; he needs a drink, after tonight. He takes a pull from the bottle and makes a face at the taste.

“See? Is shit.” Vladimir says, taking the bottle back, but that doesn’t stop him from drinking it, too. “You look like you’ve seen hell.” He snickers to himself. “Blind man sees hell.”

“It was- close,” Matt murmurs, leaning his head back. The fire- the blind people, willingly blind- he doesn’t know how to process it. The liquor leaves a warm feeling in his chest, and he reaches out to take the bottle back.

**

Somehow- and Matt couldn’t tell you how, or at what point in the night it had happened- somehow, Matt finds himself leaning against Vladimir, listening to the Russian sing something in that language, quiet and half-remembered. He puts his ear to Vladimir’s chest and feels the song vibrating against his cheek.

“You’re drunk,” Vladimir slurs when he’s done singing.

“Yeah,” Matt agrees. “I’m going to bed.”

“Not bed.”

“Yes bed. It’s my bed. I’m sleeping in my bed.”

Vladimir hums. “I sleep in bed for two weeks. Possession is law. My bed.”

“Objection. Trash cans can’t own property.”

“Blind man is shit lawyer,” Vladimir replies, and Matt can’t help himself- he starts giggling, embarrassingly high-pitched. It’s college all over again.

“It won’t kill you to sleep on the couch,” Matt says, out of breath.

“I have counter proposal.”

Matt groans. “I’m going to punch you in the balls if you tell me to suck your dick again.”

“No,” Vladimir says, and he shifts, grabbing Matt by the arm and pulling; Matt goes with it, belatedly realizing the position it’s putting him in when he finds himself straddling Vladimir’s lap.

Matt braces his hands on the couch on either side of Vladimir’s shoulders. “I told you I’m not gay,” he mutters, and Vladimir shrugs.

“Means nothing,” he says, and Matt feels fingers in his belt, tugging it open. “Is just word.” Vladimir leans in, hot breath hitting Matt’s neck before his lips make contact, nipping the sensitive skin at his throat. Matt throws back his head, giving him easier access, and fails to hold back a groan. Vladimir grinds his hips up, pulling Matt down into him by his belt loops, and Matt finds himself getting hard despite his inebriation.

“You’re such a charmer,” Matt huffs.

“This is counter proposal,” Vladimir replies; his fingers are surprisingly deft, for a drunk man. He unbuttons Matt’s fly and reaches in to give him a quick grope, laughing as Matt thrusts into his palm. “You come first, you sleep on couch.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Matt says, reaching for Vladimir’s fly. Vladimir’s hard already, leaving a wet stain on the front of his briefs- Matt wonders how long he’s been wanting to do this. Other than snide comments, Vladimir hasn’t shown any of the usual signs of attraction as long as he’s been here- no quickened heart beat, flushing, sweating, and no smell of arousal. If he’s thought about fucking Matt before, he’s got an amazing poker face (as it were).

He tugs down the other man’s underwear and frees his cock, giving it a few quick pumps up and down with his palm, getting a feel for the length. He’s never actually done this before, but touching another man’s dick is strangely not as awkward as he imagined it to be.

Vladimir is already working Matt’s cock, hand almost painfully dry; Matt can feel every scar, every callus, and it’s good, even with that slight edge of pain. Vladimir pulls his hand away, and Matt whines in the back of his throat and shifts closer. Vladimir laughs, and the hand returns, slick with spit. “Oh,” Matt sighs, and this is even better.

They fall into a rhythm, hands working and hips shifting against each other, and Vladimir is frustratingly silent except for his heavy breaths. Matt can’t help the sounds escaping his throat, embarrassing as they are.

Vladimir leans forward, suddenly, and starts muttering in Russian as he mouths Matt’s neck. “I don’t- speak asshole, remember,” Matt moans, bringing his other hand up to brace against Vladimir’s shoulder.

“You sound like whore,” Vladimir says in English, nearly breathless, he squeezes Matt’s cock and laughs at the whine that follows. “You want me to fuck you, da? That is why you brought me here. You’ve wanted this since you met me. You wouldn’t let me die.”

“You’re- so full of yourself,” Matt huffs, but whatever else he was going to say is forgotten when Vladimir bites his neck. “Oh- fuck-”

“Man in mask likes pain,” the other man says, and Matt can’t deny it; everything is tunneling in, all of his senses hyper-focused on the slick palm squeezing his cock, thumbing over the head, and the tongue at his throat, the occasional scrape of teeth at the juncture of neck and jaw. He dimly hears Vladimir laughing.

“Oh- fuck- I’m gonna-” Matt pants, grinding his hips down, and doesn’t even give Vladimir a chance to pull away. He comes, ears ringing, and then the world goes quiet for a moment.

“You’re not finished,” Vladimir says in his ear, and Matt jumps in surprise. He belatedly realizes he’s slumped against Vladimir, his hand jammed down the other man’s pants, and it would be shitty to leave him hanging.

“This means you sleep on couch,” he says, smugly, and Matt grits his teeth and squeezes maybe a little harder than he meant to. “Nyet,” Vladimir growls, and suddenly his hands are on Matt’s hips, pushing him off his lap, and Matt hits the floor, dazed. Vladimir stands, grabbing him by the back of the neck, and pulls his face into his crotch; the tip of Vladimir’s dick streaks across Matt’s cheek, leaving a trail of wet behind, and Matt recoils.

“I’m not sucking your dick,” Matt says, and thankfully Vladimir doesn’t argue. Matt grabs Vladimir’s jeans by the pockets, the better to assert a little control over the situation, and listens as Vladimir pumps his cock, alarmingly close to Matt’s face.

“A shame,” Vladimir grunts, but he doesn’t release Matt’s neck, pulling him close as jerks himself off. When Matt doesn’t fight to move, he finally lets go, moving down to cup Matt’s chin, fingers running over his lips. Matt can tell Vladimir is staring at him, transfixed. “Those lips have better use than you put them to. Made for sucking cock.”

Matt doesn’t argue; he can tell Vladimir is close, the smell of musk thick in the air, and he just wants to go to bed. His head is already pounding, and he wonders if he’s too drunk to fight Vladimir for the bed. He’s busy imagining silk sheets and a soft mattress when Vladimir finally comes; the smell hits him, hard, this close, and he pulls away before Vladimir can do something obnoxious like smear cum all over his face.

He can tell Vladimir is disappointed as he hoists himself up to his feet, but Matt is beyond caring. He stumbles in the direction of the bedroom and almost makes it to the bed before a hand catches his shoulder.

“You lose, blind man.”

“My bed,” Matt argues, and falls forward onto it. Strangely, Vladimir decides not to argue the point. Matt gets to feel smug for two seconds, his face buried in the pillow, before Vladimir collapses over him. Matt makes a vague protesting sound in his throat but can’t muster the strength to push him off.

**

He wakes up with Vladimir’s legs tangled around his, but at least they’re both still mostly clothed. The empty bottle of vodka is sandwiched between them, and Vladimir is drooling on his pillow, and Matt finds himself really hating his life, not for the first time.

He extricates himself and staggers to the bathroom for water and aspirin. But it’s Sunday and he doesn’t have anywhere else to be, so he collapses on the bed again, pushing Vladimir as far away from him as possible.

He wakes up to the sensation of fingers running through his hair, and it feels good- too good to pull away at first. But then he takes a breath and smells Vladimir, and jerks away in alarm.

“Jumpy,” the Russian says, but he doesn’t try to touch Matt again.

“I- wasn’t expecting to wake up. To that.” Matt sits up, running his own hand through his hair under the pretense of smoothing it back into place.

Vladimir laughs. “Okay with me touching your dick, but hair is off limits.”

“Everything is off limits right now.”

“Hmm.” Vladimir rolls onto his back, and Matt listens as he picks up the empty bottle, shakes it disappointedly, and tosses it overboard. It hits the wooden floor with a dull clunk. “Figures you would have regrets.”

Matt wants to argue, to lay out all the horrible choices he’s made since bringing Vladimir home. Of course he has regrets. Most of them center on Vladimir being a hardened criminal with no regard for innocent life, but it’s been easy- too easy- to forget that lately, with the man still weak from his brush with death. There was a reason Claire refused to come over lately; a reason for Foggy and Karen’s worried looks as he stumbled into to work looking more and more exhausted every day.

That Vladimir was making nice right now was probably just a survival tactic of his own- maybe even a twisted Stockholm syndrome- because wasn’t Matt really his abductor, all things considered?

“You’re telling me you don’t?”

Vladimir snorts. “Many regrets. Yes. Coming to America would be one.” The bed creaks as Vladimir faces him. “Working with Fisk. Letting Anatoly die.” He pauses. “Not dying when I was supposed to.”

“No regret for being a shitty person?” Matt grumbles. He refuses to feel sorry for a man who kidnaps little boys.

Vladimir scoffs. “Me and my brother came from Russia with nothing. We see things that would make you cry. But we endure. We survive. We do what we have to do.”

“That still doesn’t justify kidnapping,” Matt reminds him.

“This life makes you hard. Turns you into animal.” Vladimir reaches out and pokes Matt in the chest. “You will find out. You get into cage with animals. You will understand soon enough.”

**

Vladimir is gone when he comes back from work the next day. Matt pauses in the hallway, listening; it’s been too long since the only heartbeat around has been his own. He thought he would embrace the solitude.

He pokes around the apartment, noticing small things that are missing. The clothes he bought for Vladimir, some small toiletries. One of his towels. He reaches under the mattress for the envelope of cash he keeps there, and it’s noticeably lighter.

Matt sits on the bed with a sigh. He should be relieved. Vladimir can take care of himself- he knows that. And if he doesn’t, Matt knows he’ll run across him sooner or later.

He fights Fisk a week later, and shit goes downhill from there. Foggy finds out, Karen spirals into a depression because of their fight, and Matt doesn’t know how to fix it.

He knows he can’t be what Foggy wants- he can’t be normal. It was too late for that. Vladimir’s words haunt him daily, and he knows the man was right. Matt had entered the cage too long ago, but for the longest time he’d been alone. He didn’t have the luxury anymore of pretending he wasn’t trapped.


End file.
